19. Quiet After Chaos
19
QUIET AFTER CHAOS
~JESSICA~
V iper's scent is the first thing I notice when I start to wake.
Warm. Grounding. Heavy with smoke, cedar, a hint of leather, and the faintest bite of iron beneath it all—like the promise of danger wrapped in safety.
Like the scent of a predator who's already killed for you.
I don't open my eyes yet. I don't need to. I know exactly where I am.
My cheek rests against his chest, and beneath my skin, his heartbeat echoes slow and steady. A rhythm as hypnotic as the man himself. Strong arms encircle my waist, one leg slung lazily over mine, his grip possessive even in unconsciousness. I try to shift, and his arm tightens instinctively, locking me in place.
I smile.
A rare kind. The quiet kind. The kind that comes when the war inside you finally hushes long enough for you to just...breathe.
His breath stirs the strands of my hair where it pools across his chest. Each exhale is slow, deep. Measured. So unlike the monster he becomes when he's awake—all fire and edge and violence. Now he's soft. Vulnerable. Human.
He snores.
A soft, barely-there rumble from the back of his throat, and something inside me melts.
I don’t know when this started.
When I began to memorize the different versions of him. The silent killer. The masked stalker. The growling Alpha who takes me apart piece by piece like he was built to ruin me.
And this.
The man beneath it all.
My fingers twitch against his ribs, but I don’t move. Not yet. I let the warmth of his skin, the slow drag of his breath, wrap around me like a second blanket.
Last night.
It comes back in a haze of broken sleep and raw emotion.
The nightmare.
I’d woken up cold and gasping, heart pounding in my throat, sweat slicking my skin as images clawed at the inside of my skull. That night. That fucking night. The one that never leaves me. That owns me in ways I hate to admit.
I'd crept to the bathroom, closing the door soft as a whisper. Turned the water on as hot as it would go. Let it scald my skin, burn the whimpers right out of me as I tried to steady my breathing.
Tried to remember that I was safe.
That I wasn't back there.
And then...
He came in.
No hesitation. Just him. Rook. Silent as a ghost, but all too present.
I don’t know if he heard me or just felt it in his bones—the way I was unraveling. But he was there, fully clothed, stripping and ready to step into the shower like he belonged in my pain. He didn’t ask stupid questions. He just wrapped his arms around me.
And held me.
I broke.
Not in a violent, ugly way. In the kind of way that felt like exhaling after holding your breath too long. I sobbed into his chest, my nails digging into his drenched back, and he held me tighter.
No questions.
No demands.
Just unwavering presence.
I cried until I couldn’t anymore. Until my body gave out, and exhaustion dragged me under.
He carried me back here, helped me dress and feel comfortable in his arms. Diverted my attention by sharing how he’d just slayed those who dared hope to be rid of me in exchange for the ten billion bid on my head, and it somehow was comforting enough of a reveal to pull me into slumber.
And now, here I am.
Wrapped in his arms, cradled in the scent of safety, feeling something close to peace for the first time in too damn long.
Most mornings, I wake with a weight in my chest. A pressure. A warning that the day will hurt. That I'm already behind, already hunted.
But not today.
Today, there’s stillness.
A lull between storms.
Maybe I should get up. Use the head start. Slip away before he wakes and turns back into the growling bastard who makes me squirm in every sense of the word.
I try to move.
His arm tightens.
Like a steel trap.
"Don't," he mutters, voice a low gravel. "Stay. Just a little longer."
My chest does something traitorous. Something warm.
I shift in his grip, pressing my mouth to his chest.
Kiss it. Softly.
He groans.
"Venom," he warns.
"What?" I murmur against his skin.
"Don’t start something you have no intention of finishing."
I laugh. It bubbles up, bright and real. My lips curl against his skin.
He shifts, rolling onto his back with a low grunt, dragging me with him until I’m straddling his waist. My hands press to his chest for balance, and I stare down at him, letting my hair fall around our faces.
His eyes crack open. Sleepy. Feral. Blue as ocean depths.
He stares at me like he can’t quite believe I’m real.
"Am I dreaming?" he rasps.
I grin. "Depends. Am I naked and worshipping you in this dream, or am I stealing your knives and leaving through the window?"
He groans again, dragging both arms behind his head as his gaze roams over me.
"You're trouble."
"You like trouble."
"Yeah," he says. "Especially when it's straddling my cock first thing in the morning."
My grin widens.
I lean down and kiss him.
Slow. Deep. Tongue and teeth and heat.
He groans into my mouth, hips twitching beneath me, but he doesn’t touch.
Doesn’t move. Just lets me take my time. When I pull away, he’s staring up at me like I’m something sacred.
I trail kisses down his throat, across his collarbone, then lower still. I shift down his body, nipping at the scars and lines of ink that dance across his skin.
Four tattoos mark his ribs.
Rook.
Bastian.
Marcus.
Knox.
His pack.
And one empty spot.
I kiss it. Just once.
Then I slide further.
My hand drags down his abdomen, fingers brushing the elastic waistband of his boxers. I don’t rush. I tease. Watching his muscles twitch beneath me.
I hook my fingers into the band and pull.
His cock springs free. Thick. Veiny. Heavy.
I hum in approval.
"You gonna behave?" he asks, voice rough.
I glance up through my lashes, smirking.
"Define behave."
He groans.
“Venom.” I know from the depth of his voice that’s probably the only warning I’ll get if I don’t stop playing games that will lead to the best morning sex.
Will the idea of being pounded into oblivion stop me?
No.
Absolutely not.
Which is exactly why I lower my mouth.
I start slow. Purposefully so. My lips part, tongue dragging across the flushed crown of his cock as I lap up the bead of precum already there. Salt and heat and the unique taste of him fills my mouth, and my lashes flutter as I hum with satisfaction.
His cock twitches in response.
I trail kisses along the shaft, hot and open-mouthed, licking a stripe up the underside like I’m worshipping something dangerous. And maybe I am. He could snap my neck with a thought. Ruin me from the inside out. But right now, he lies there like a god on his altar, hands still folded behind his head, breathing shallow, chest rising and falling with quiet restraint.
I take the head into my mouth again, swirling my tongue around it, teasing the sensitive ridge just beneath the crown.
"Fuck," he mutters.
I smile around his length and take him deeper.
Inch by inch, I slide down until he hits the back of my throat, gagging just slightly, adjusting to the stretch. My jaw aches already, but I welcome the burn. I hold there, nose pressed to his lower abdomen, breathing through my nose as my throat tightens around him.
He groans.
Not loud. Not obnoxious.
Just broken.
And perfect.
I pull back slowly, lips slick, spit trailing down my chin as I release him with a pop.
"You always look at me like that when I'm on my knees for you," I murmur, stroking him with one hand. "Like you can't believe I belong to you."
"That's because you don't," he says, his voice low. "Not yet."
I shiver.
My hand tightens slightly around him.
Then I lean back, rising up on my knees where I straddle him.
I press the head of his cock against my slit—still soaked, still aching for him. I don’t slide him in. Not yet. I coat him first. Grinding against him slowly, teasingly, slick painting his shaft in glistening strokes.
His hips jerk.
His breath hitches.
"You see that?" I whisper, watching his eyes burn as I grind my dripping pussy against him. "That’s how wet I am for you."
His arms are still behind his head, but his fingers twitch like he wants to grab me, flip me over, take control. He doesn’t.
Not this round.
Because this is mine.
My moment.
I lift myself slightly, reaching down to guide him.
And I sink down.
Inch by inch.
My mouth falls open as he stretches me, filling me slowly. My pussy clenches around him instinctively, drawing him deeper, and my thighs tremble with effort as I take him all the way in.
When I bottom out, I pause.
We both breathe.
His eyes are shut now, jaw tight, a muscle ticking as he restrains himself from moving.
"Fuck," I whisper, my hands braced on his chest. "You’re too big."
He opens his eyes and looks at me.
"You took it. You always do."
And I do.
Because there’s no one else I want inside me like this — stretching me out to the brink yet feeling so perfectly interlocked.
I roll my hips slowly, testing the feel, letting my body adjust to the fullness.
The stretch. The heat. My clit brushes against his abdomen with every movement, and the slow friction builds a heat that spirals from my core.
Then I start to move.
I lift myself, just a little, and drop down again.
A slow bounce.
His hands are still behind his head, his eyes locked on where we’re joined, watching his cock disappear into my slick heat again and again.
I ride him like I own him. Like I’m not the one losing my mind from the feel of him inside me.
Every thrust is deliberate. Controlled. The wet sound of our bodies meeting echoes in the quiet room, the slap of skin and the ragged breaths between us.
I arch my back, throwing my head back, letting my hair cascade down my spine as I bounce harder, faster.
His eyes darken, his chest rising sharply with each breath, and I feel the shift. His control is fraying.
"You’re driving me insane," he growls, his voice rougher now.
I moan, rolling my hips in a slow circle.
"That was the plan."
His hands move.
Finally.
One grabs my hip, the other sliding up my spine to tangle in my hair.
"Keep going," he commands. "I want to see you fall apart on me."
I grind down harder, riding him like my life depends on it.
My thighs start to burn, but I don’t stop.
Not until he makes me.
And even then, I’ll fight him for control.
I want him ruined.
And I want to be the one who does it.
My pace picks up again, a calculated rhythm of pleasure and torment.
I can feel my orgasm building fast and sharp behind my ribs, coiling like a wire ready to snap. But I don’t let it.
I hold it.
I grit my teeth, dig my nails into his chest, and breathe through the tension.
Because I want more. I want it to be ours .
Rook notices.
His hand shifts from my hip to my lower belly, his thumb brushing the place where he can feel himself inside me. His eyes burn.
"You’re holding it," he rasps.
I nod, gasping, my thighs trembling.
"I want to come with you."
He groans. A sound so wrecked it vibrates through my core.
"You going to hold your orgasm for me, little mouse?" he murmurs, leaning up, brushing his mouth over the shell of my ear.
I whimper.
"Yes. Please."
The swell of his knot is pressing harder now, thick and insistent at the base of his cock. I feel it with every grind, every thrust, and my pussy clenches around him in anticipation, already desperate to pull him in deep and lock him there.
I dare to think what it would feel like.
To be locked in and the pleasure it would ensue.
I’d never experienced such before. Always hearing the other Omegas talk about it like some forbidden dream. Forbidden fruit you don’t get to touch until you’re ready to face the consequences.
"It’s forming," he warns, voice strained. "I’m not pulling out if it takes."
I shudder at the threat. The promise. My breath catches in my throat.
For a heartbeat, I hesitate.
Does he really want to be stuck with me?
But that same heartbeat passes, and I smirk between pants, eyes locking with his.
"You’re gonna regret it."
He growls, low and primal, his hand wrapping tight around my waist.
"I regret very few things in my chaotic life, Venom," he snarls. "My enemies. My sins. The blood on my hands. But you?"
He thrusts upward, hard, cutting off my breath.
"You will never be on that list."
He sits up fully, arms wrapping around my waist like iron, lifting my body with maddening ease before slamming me back down onto his cock.
Hard.
My whimpering scream must be music to his ears because it only encourages him as he doesn't stop. He finds a brutal rhythm, bouncing me on his cock like I weigh nothing, like he's been waiting for this exact moment to claim me over and over again.
"V-V-Viper!" I sob, hands clinging to his shoulders as his cock drills into me. It feels too good, that chasing high only amplifies.
"Come for me," he demands, and his growling deep Alpha voice is full of command, my body won’t dare refuse. “Now."
And I do.
I break.
My orgasm detonates, tearing through my body like wildfire.
I convulse around him, pussy spasming, slick gushing as my scream echoes through the hollow room.
He fucks me through it. Hard. Fast. Relentless. The squelch of slick, the wet slap of skin on skin, the sound of my climax filling the space like a symphony of sin.
Sunlight begins to spill across the floor, turning the sweat on our bodies into gold.
But he’s not done.
His face twists with the force of his nearing release, brows pinched, lips parted, a litany of curses tumbling out as he chases his own climax.
I can already feel another orgasm building deep inside me, and I pant, biting my lip to keep from screaming too soon.
"You’re going to knot me," I gasp, voice wrecked.
He growls.
"I want to."
"You can’t go back if you do," I warn, even as my hips roll against him, desperate.
His hand tightens around my throat, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep my focus.
"Then I won’t go back. I’d rather die than lose you."
His thrusts become erratic and powerful.
I whimper.
"You’ll have to share me. With your pack."
That tips him over.
The idea of sharing me with anyone always does.
In an instant, he pins me beneath him, my legs folded high to my chest. His cock plunges deep as he takes control, pounding into me with the full force of his strength.
I’m expecting him to stop himself at some point, but I dare think ‘what if he doesn’t?”
What if he truly wants this?
"I don’t care," he finally snarls, fucking me harder. "If I get to keep you like this, I’ll share. If I get to fuck you just like this. Raw, filled, milking my fucking cock with your hot quivering pussy. I’ll be a fucking team player and let the others get a glimpse of you!"
His knot slams against my entrance, swollen, desperate to lock in place.
“But I get you the most. Will fuck you whenever I wish, and if they have a problem with it, they can go eat knives, because you’re going to be my first, Venom!” He grunts, clearly on the edge of euphoria. “You’re mine, Jessica.”
That throws me over the edge with him.
And I’m screaming again.
He growls, teeth bared, and thrusts one final time—deep, hard—and then stills.
His knot pops past my entrance with a thick, consuming pressure, locking us together.
I gasp, my whole body jolting from the force of it. I feel it swell inside me, stretching me further, sealing us together in a connection so primal it knocks the breath from my lungs.
And then?—
Pleasure detonates.
It steals my voice. My breath. My mind.
The moment his knot locks into place, our bodies react like they were made for this—for each other. I clench around him, hard and wet and fluttering, my second orgasm crashing into me like a tidal wave.
He spills inside me, hot and endless, each pulse of cum wringing another moan from me. I can feel every twitch, every contraction, like his body is writing its name into mine.
We writhe together, bound, helpless in the wake of it. Our bodies locked in a feverish knot, our cries tangled in the sweat-slicked space between us.
He collapses onto me, breathing hard, his chest pressing flush against mine.
My arms wind around him, and I realize I’m purring.
Not softly.
Not subtly.
A loud, deep, rhythmic sound vibrates up from my chest, raw and involuntary. It startles me—the strength of it, the way it feels like it’s humming in my bones. Like something ancient is waking in me, something primal and hungry and whole. I’ve never purred for anyone. Not once. Not even the ones who pretended to care, who played at being mine.
But for him? For Rook? It spills out of me without hesitation.
The sound is constant, like the engine of something unstoppable, vibrating against his skin where our bodies are locked together. It’s soothing and electric, a physical echo of the bond my heart aches for.
He groans at the sound, his entire body twitching against me like it undoes him.
"Fuck," he rasps. "You’re purring."
My eyes flutter, and I nod, dazed.
"I know. I... I’ve never done that before."
His breath catches, and I feel it—this tremble that runs through him like I’ve just handed him something sacred.
"Never?"
"No Alpha's ever made me feel like this. Not safe. Not claimed. Not... wanted."
His nose nuzzles into the crook of my neck, mouth open against my damp skin. He inhales, deep and shaky, his arms curling tighter around my waist like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.
I feel the scrape of his teeth.
Not biting.
Not yet.
Just there. Just present.
A low rumble vibrates from his chest—his own primal answer to my purring. A growl. Deep. Resonant. Like the earth responding to thunder.
He nestles closer, head burrowing into the place where my neck meets my shoulder, his mouth pressed right over the spot where my mark would go. The one I haven’t given him.
My purring stutters.
My teeth ache. My jaw tightens.
I want to mark him.
Not just out of instinct. Out of need .
It wells up like pressure behind my ribs. My scent blooms around us, curling into his like a velvet snare. My body knows what it wants. Who it wants.
But I hesitate.
Because if I mark him now, there’s no going back. No taking it away.
My fingers tremble where they cradle his jaw.
He feels it.
He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, and something raw flickers in his eyes. Not lust. Not rage.
Devotion.
"You want to mark me, don’t you?" he whispers.
I nod, voice tight.
"Yeah. But... I want to be sure. I want to give you the out. I want to know this won’t be something you regret when your knot deflates and the world crashes back in."
His jaw flexes, and he cups my cheek, fingers brushing away the sweat clinging to my skin.
"You think I regret this?"
I start to answer, but he silences me with a look—intense, blazing.
"Next time I knot you," he says, voice a vow scraped raw with heat, "you’re going to mark me. Over. And over. Until everyone knows. Until I know, every second, that you’re mine."
My breath catches.
He leans in, pressing his forehead to mine, his hips still locked against me with the knot keeping us joined.
"You’re already inside my veins, Venom. I just want to bleed for you."
The purring returns—louder, deeper.
I can’t stop it.
It vibrates through both of us, resonating like a song written in another lifetime. Like my soul is finally answering a call it never knew was being sung.
He growls again, louder this time, and I swear I feel him swell even more inside me, the bond pulsing through our joined bodies like a heartbeat.
His hands drift up and down my back, stroking, grounding me, his nose still buried in my neck. I feel him whisper something there —soft and low— but the words are lost beneath the thunder of what we are.
We stay like that, tangled in each other, joined by knot and need and something neither of us wants to name yet.
The bond wraps tighter, the world fading away beneath the intensity of our breath and our scents and the sound of my purring carrying us both into a silence that feels like peace.
Until the sun fully rises, casting light across our twisted limbs, our slick bodies, and the irrevocable truth that nothing between us will ever be the same again.